Secret Service
by GalaxieGurl
Summary: Christine has a school assignment on family history which leads her to some surprising discoveries about Grandpa Max.
1. Chapter 1

Secret Service

 _A/N: This story idea about Max's past popped into my head early this morning. It is very AU, so don't be surprised by its revelations. I apologize if my historical assumptions are faulty._

Christine groaned when her alarm clock jangled at 6:45 am, followed by a chorus of 'You Gotta Get Up in the Morning' from her cell phone. A month of waking up to Irving Berlin's "Oh How I Hate to Get Up in the Morning" was the inventive penalty imposed by her mother for having missed curfew one recent Friday night. While she detested the song, Christine knew it was effective. She'd make sure not to violate her 12:30 am curfew again. Mr. Wilson had assigned an intriguing AP US History winter break project, which she was enjoying but on this snowy morning, she'd rather have slept in.

Forty minutes later, fortified by cinnamon oatmeal, hazelnut coffee, and a hot shower, Christine was on the road. Her destination this morning was a residence in Silver Spring. She had an appointment with Barbara Bennett, a family history researcher who enjoyed her mother's books. Brennan had struck up a conversation with the diminutive genealogist after one of her earliest book signings. The pair had become fast friends with much in common. Both women had numerous fans and guarded their privacy assiduously. Christine had been fascinated on more than one occasion, hearing Mrs. Bennett speak. She had worked up the nerve to request an interview with the genealogist which was graciously granted.

bbbbbbbbb

Christine's class assignment was to research her family's past using specifically U.S. Census data, military rolls, and immigration records. Brennan had blanched at this revelation during dinner a few evenings ago, and the teenager didn't miss the look her parents exchanged without comment. When their meal was finished, the couple had disappeared into Brennan's office, ignoring Hank's and Christine's squabble over who had dish duty. She wasn't surprised when they asked her to join them an hour later.

"Hava seat, honey," Booth began. "About this project of yours, you already know that Abraham Lincoln had a tragic encounter with one of my ancestors. . ."

"Yeah, Dad, you told me that in the fourth grade."

"Well, that's not the only secret in the skeleton closet," he trailed off.

"Booth, bones do not own closets; let me handle this," Brennan interjected.

"What your dad is trying to say, Christine, is that your grandparents had a rather checkered past, to put it mildly. Max and your grandmother were bank robbers at one time, before I was born, and they assumed false identities to hide from a criminal gang trying to kill them, Russ, and me."

Christine stared at her mother, speechless. Temperance Brennan believed in the truth; bald, bare, straightforward truth.

"Grandpa Max was a crook?"

Booth glared slightly at his wife and took up the story. "Chrissy, your grandparents rifled bank deposit boxes after hours, but they never hurt anyone. They discovered evidence in an Ohio vault, which incriminated some unscrupulous FBI agents, and put their family in danger. It's a long story, but Max eventually helped release an innocent man from prison and convict some seriously evil people. He and your grandma did some shady stuff, but they protected their kids at all costs. Let's just say Max would have absolutely been a hero in the Old West."

"We'll tell you more as you're older, but you may find some unsettling information as you research my father, Christine, and we needed to make you aware of that," Brennan said resolutely.

"Max loved his family fiercely, and that guided all his actions," she stated softly, tears in her eyes, remembering a long-ago conversation with her father.

" _You could have lived an honest life Dad."_

" _You know, sometimes circumstances move your life in a direction you never thought it would go….Your mother and I, we never intended to live outside the law…"_

" _Then why did you?"_

" _I can't tell you why. Not yet. Certain people are out there still alive could get hurt. I don't want to hurt anyone else…"_

" _That's not a real answer."_

" _I know, but you're just going to have to trust me."_

" _It's not easy, Dad."_

" _I'm sure it isn't. But when all is said and done, honey, your childhood wasn't so bad. You used to love playing tag when you were a kid….You loved it…and you always got me…. I can still hear you laughing and squealing with joy every time you got me…"_ (Episode 9.18: The Carrot in the Kudzu)

"Mom. . . " Christine said.

"Honey, we'll talk more. All you need to keep in mind for now is that your Grandpa Max was an amazing man who never ceased to surprise even those who thought they knew him well," Booth assured his daughter. "For now, this isn't something you can share with your brother. Understood?"

Bbbbbbbbbbbbb

This early on a weekend, there were very few cars on 495, and Christine had plenty of time to mull her parent's revelations during her half-hour trip. _Her grandparents had robbed banks?_ She laughed out loud. Grandpa Max had played 'Cops and Robbers' with both her and Hank dozens of times; a complex game of tag which always ended in gentle tickling and lots of hugs. It was one of her favorite memories.

She pulled up in front of a compact well-kept home, exited her car, and rang the doorbell. Mrs. Bennett opened the door and welcomed her in. She didn't accept genealogy research clients, but was an avid fan of Temperance Brennan's books, and more than happy to assist the author's daughter. While the Montgomery County Historical Society was actually in Rockville, Mrs. Bennett preferred to access its archives from her home office. Familiar with her mother's fight for privacy, Christine readily understood.

Mrs. Bennett's office was a plant-filled sunroom, with low bookshelves and a spacious desk holding several computers and display screens. She carried a pot of fragrant tea to a side table, sat down and poured two cups while describing her research techniques for gleaning warm human facts from dry statistics and aged documents. Looking at her teenaged guest with bright eyes, Bennett chuckled.

"Your father's side of the family has some interesting members, doesn't it?"

"Yes, m'am. I think that's partly why my dad joined the FBI, to offset John Wilkes Booth's horrible deed."

"Well, all the Booth men since then have served their country honorably, from what I hear. What about your mother's relatives? What have you learned about them? What were your grandparents' names?"

Christine hesitated. "It seems they both had more than one name…I'm not sure which ones to use in my search."

Already aware of this fact by a phone call from Brennan earlier in the week, Mrs. Bennett smiled.

"Well, then, let's look up your grandfather using both _nom de plumes_ ," she suggested.

"Max Keenan and Matt Brennan," Christine replied.

Mrs. Bennett pulled up the military draft records database. "When was he born and where?"

Christine consulted a small notebook. "October 8, 1941, in Somerset Pennsylvania. My grandmother was found in Salisbury about 20 miles away," she said softly.

"I know, your mother told me. She said they were very much in love, despite their colorful activities."

She briskly changed the subject. "Okay, we enter his name, date and place of birth, and see what we come up with…he registered for the draft in 1959. Here's his record. He's noted as attending Bucks County Community College, while working as an electrician's assistant. Completed an associate degree in science. Enlisted in the Army in 1961, reported for basic training at Carlisle Barracks Army Base. It says here, upon completing basic, he volunteered for Airborne Special Forces training at Fort Bragg, North Carolina. During Special Forces Assessment and Selection; he was disqualified for a heart murmur, and had to drop out."

Christine's eyes widened. "I don't think my mother is even aware of this."

"That doesn't surprise me. Most kids aren't cognizant of their parents' earlier lives," Mrs. Bennett assured her.

"Considering your dad's stellar military record, your grandfather likely never mentioned this to him either. Most men don't like to admit failure. A heart murmur wouldn't necessarily have kept your granddad out of the regular Army, depending on his MOS, or assignment. However, he couldn't join Special Forces with that physical condition. Can't fault his intentions, though. He wanted to serve his country and was able to fulfill his two-year commitment as a pharmacy assistant. Received an honorable discharge in 1963."

"Do you see how we looked him up and followed the records to uncover his past? It's the same process you'd use for researching immigration records, ships' manifests of Atlantic crossings, Ellis Island entry, and the like."

"Now, let's look up Max Keenan in the census records. Hmmm, that won't help much. Data is only released 70 years after a particular census is taken, and your grandfather wasn't alive in 1940. The 1950 US Census information won't be published until 2020. But the technique is the same. What was your father's grandfather's name? He was around in 1940, and would most likely have been alive in 1930."

"Great-grand Pops' name was Henry Joseph Booth. He was born January 13, 1930 in Philadelphia. His parents were Joseph Henry and Emma Frances Hawkins Booth," Christine read from her notes.

Mrs. Bennett logged into . "You can search the public census records, but need their home address to find the recorded entry. Ancestry has catalogued the information by name, which is much easier to manipulate. Here he is. Joseph Booth was a police clerk. Their address was 172 Franklin Street. Your great-grandfather was two and a half months old."

"Great-grand Pops was a baby? That's so cool. My dad is gonna love hearing this," Christine said with a laugh, as she jotted down the notation.

"If we skip ahead to the 1940 Census and use the same address, maybe we can find your great-grandfather once more….Yup, they still lived on Franklin Street. But now, Hank Booth is ten years old. His father was a police constable by then."

"Family history is fascinating to explore. You never know what you'll uncover; good or bad," Mrs. Bennett agreed. "That's why I'm so passionate about teaching people how to go about it. Of course, African-Americans are at a distinct disadvantage due to the slave trade. Many people's lineage was disrupted and obliterated by the Middle Passage. I am fortunate that my forebears were Yoruba royalty in Abeokuta, Lagos. My great-great-grandfather studied medicine at King's College in London, my great-grandfather was educated at Edinburgh University. Both were appointed staff assistant surgeons for the British Army."

"My grandfather was trained in thoracic surgery at the University of Durham; my father studied in London, and was chief surgeon at Moorfield Eye Hospital before joining Wilmer Institute at Johns Hopkins. Education has always been tantamount in my family as it is for your mother, a way to overcome adversity and small-minded people."

"I've enumerated my ancestry, not to impress you, Christine, but to demonstrate how different my experience has been from that of most African-Americans who can't trace their families. My brother followed the family business into medicine; my sister works in public health administration, my lifework has been history, education, and genealogy. None of us has less than a Master's degree."

Christine had been listening intently. "My parents have stressed the same thing to us. Parker is pursuing a Master's degree in Epidemiology; I'm hoping to follow Dad into the FBI or law enforcement of some kind. Hank is too young yet to predict. Right now, he wants to be a fireman."

"Even so, honey, he's already got your dad's spirit for serving others," Mrs. Bennett observed. "Your parents have given so many people closure through their work. My college roommate lost her brother in Baltimore and they apprehended his killer. I enjoy your mother's books, but I admire her forensic work even more. If I can bring a fraction of the peace to people that the Jeffersonian-FBI partnership has, I'll count myself a success. You're blessed, child, with much to live up to."

Barbara Bennett swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Just listen to me, blathering on; this isn't getting your project finished—"

"Mrs. Bennett, don't apologize. You've taught me more than research methods this morning. I've taken up too much of your time, but I so appreciate hearing your experiences, philosophy, and ideas. Aunt Cam said you consulted on deciphering the cargo logs from the Amalia Rose. Your comments helped her deal with finding a woman with her great-grandmother's name. Mom told me she had a hard time coping with that case. Dad's always saying you have to march to the drummer in your head. My grandfather was kind of like that, I guess, doing what he saw as right for himself."

"Yes, I think you're right. You definitely come from strong-minded people, Christine. Give my best to your momma, and that handsome hunk father of yours!" Mrs. Bennett said. "If he wasn't married, and I was single, my oh my….!"

As Christine turned beet red, the genealogist apologized. "Sorry, honey, I got carried away."

"No matter, Mrs. Bennett, I'm pretty sure most of my teachers all feel the same. They don't hide staring at my dad very well. Thanks for all your assistance this morning. I hope you have a merry Christmas with your family."

"You too, Christine, the same to your folks."

Bbbbbbbbbb

Christine buckled her seat belt, turned on the heater, and carefully backed out of Barbara Bennett's driveway. What a morning this had turned out to be! Mrs. Bennett's feisty personality reminded her of Caroline Julian's uniquely outspoken approach to living. The prosecutor was one of her favorite people. The traffic was heavier now, and she drove alertly back to Rockville.

As she came down her street, Christine spotted Hank at the base of an extension ladder, feeding a long string of Christmas lights up to Booth who was clipping them to the roof gutters. He turned as she pulled into the driveway, and started down the ladder.

"Hank-o, let's head inside and warm up. Please go ask your mom to make some hot cocoa, Buddy."

He put his arm around his daughter's shoulder and pulled her close. "Whad'ja find out, honey? Any deep dark secrets?"

Christine's expression stopped his teasing. "Dad, I found out something about Max. I don't know how Mom's gonna feel about hearing it."

"Is it bad?" her father asked.

"No, no, nothing like that, just surprising, that's all."

Seated at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around warm mugs of cocoa, Booth and Brennan waited for their daughter to speak.

"Max was in the Army. He started Airborne training, but he had a heart murmur," Christine told them. "It apparently wasn't serious enough to disqualify him from the service; he was a pharmacy assistant for the rest of his two years instead."

Her parents' eyes met in one of the silent conversations their children were accustomed to, and Booth leaned over to kiss his wife.

"The pacemaker," she said softly. "I never knew he was in the Army..."

"He never let on, did he?' Booth asked her gently.

"Grandpa Max had a heart condition? Is that why he died, Mom?" Christine asked.

"Your grandfather was getting on in years, honey, but yes, he had some cardiac issues which effected his demise."

"Christine glanced at her father who nodded. She knew her mother well enough to recognize the scientific jargon Brennan used to mask her emotions at time. The girl asked no more questions, but continued describing what Mrs. Bennett had shown her.

""Daddy, we found Great-Grand Pops and his parents in the 1930 Census; he wasn't even three months old when it was conducted, just a baby. They lived in Philadelphia on Franklin Street!"

"Pops would love that! We'll have to look up Grams too. Sounds like you had an interesting morning!"

Christine agreed, "This family history project involves way more than dry dull statistics, that's for sure. Each entry is a person!"

bbbbbbbbbb

Much later that night when their children were in bed, and Booth had checked the house as he always did, he quietly entered the master bedroom, knowing he would find her lost in thought. Brennan was sitting in bed, her knees pulled up to her chin, her arms wrapped around them; as he imagined she might have as a child, waiting for Max to answer her questions. She looked up at him, her blue eyes stormy and troubled.

"How could I not have known my father served in the Army, Booth? Did he ever reveal that to you? Do you think my mother was aware of his heart abnormality? How many other damn secrets did he take with him to the grave? Why would he hide things like that from his own children? He wanted me to trust him but apparently, he didn't trust me."

"Bones, I don't believe it was anything like that. There's no doubt that Max was a very private man, kinda like me, but I think his motivation sprang from a desire not to worry you. To him, worrying was his job; about you. Not the other way around. He never told me he enlisted either, but I think that was just his way. I daresay he never told your mom about his heart for the same reason. He saw worrying as his responsibility."

"But-"

"And as far as trusting you, he trusted you explicitly. You wanna know how I know that? He came back just for the chance to be with you, knowing he'd likely be arrested. He trusted you with his heart and his love, hoping his daughter would forgive his missteps."

"Of course, I forgave him. I always loved him, even when he crushed my heart by leaving. He was my father," Brennan sobbed.

Booth enveloped her in a hug; for once, he had no further answers, no more words to comfort her. And so, he repeated himself, one more time.

"I know he loved you too, Bones, always, and so did your mom. As twisted as it seems, that's why they left you. I'm sure it broke their hearts too."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 Booth's Favorite Aunt

 **A/N: I'm adding this stand-alone entry in the 2017 Bonesology Summer Challenge because it continues Christine's discovery of her family's history, begun as a middle school assignment described in Chapter 1 herein. It deals with Booth's favorite aunt whose sports fanatic roommate held box seats for hockey, baseball, and any other team around. He mentions them in relation to Roxie while driving with Angela during "The Skull in the Sculpture" episode. Each time I see that one, his comments make me smile. (A kid and his sports. Works every time. Nothing better.) '** **Never let "I love you" go unsaid' was the prompt for this chapter.**

1982

Booth and Jared were perched impatiently on their mom's floral cut velvet sofa. The pair took turns watching out the living room window for a familiar car to pull into the driveway. Unlike most Saturdays, the black and white cartoon characters flitting across the TV screen were ignored. They were spending the weekend with their favorite Aunt Ruth. Their father Edwin was away overnight at a barber's convention, and their mother was looking forward to a rare day to herself. She finished folding the last load of laundry and smiled to herself, watching her sons bounce around. The pair were so excited, they hadn't squabbled over the last of the cereal a bit this morning.

Her sister-in-law Ruth was as different from Edwin as siblings could be; her contagious optimism the exact opposite of his weathervane moods. Ruth and her partner Frannie were a perfect match for one another. Longtime housemates, the two women had active careers and very different interests, except for one; their shared fanatical love of sports. Frannie had box seats each season for the Flyers.

Her successful banking career gave her access to some perks not many people enjoyed, which included purchasing top-notch Flyers' season tickets for an exceptional price. Of course, the fact that she'd been attending games since childhood with her father was well-known in Philly hockey circles, and this didn't hurt her fan status one bit.

Aunt Ruth had worked in publishing all her life; starting as a copy proofreader after three years on the high school newspaper staff. She'd graduated as the Franklin HS _Kite 'n' Key_ newspaper and _Bolt_ yearbook editor. Her brother Edwin was a standout athlete in every sport he tried. Only 21 months apart, they'd traipsed through their school years together. Throughout Edwin's tour of duty in Vietnam, Ruth had worried as much as her mother about his safety streaking though the sky in fighter planes.

As Scooby's All Stars gave way to Wiley Coyote, Frannie's Mellow Yellow AMC Pacer coupe arrived. Its official name 'Fried Egg' delighted Jared and Booth. Aunt Ruth hopped out of the front seat and trotted up to the front door, bracing herself for the onslaught of her nephews' hugs. She promised Marianne they'd return Sunday after church and McDonald's Happy Meals. Edwin wasn't due back until after dinnertime.

The two ladies shared an airy apartment above the Kensington neighborhood pharmacy Frannie's father and granddad had operated. The sturdy two-story brick building had been in their family since 1923 when her great-grandfather bought it as an investment and moved his family in above the drugstore. Its three cozy bedrooms were down the hall from a pocket-sized office just large enough for spread out two sleeping bags on the scratchy wool carpet without banging one's head against the mahogany rolltop desk.

Dressed in pedal pusher pants and sleeveless shirts, Aunt Ruth and Frannie took the boys to McPherson Square Park where they tossed a pair of footballs back and forth, and chased Frisbees across the grass. They stopped for Bassett's Ice Cream, then returned home to wash up and change clothes before boarding the train for Spectrum Center.

Four hours later, hoarse from yelling and jubilant from Flyer victory, Booth and Jared followed their aunts back onto the train and collapsed in their seats. They'd eaten hot dogs and all manner of other treats not usually allowed or afforded by their parents; and watched flying pucks, flashing skate blades, and vigorously swung sticks to their hearts' content. Jared fell asleep against Ruth's shoulder within ten minutes and slumped into her lap. Booth, on the other hand, watched out the window, fascinated by the passing sights of his larger hometown than he normally saw. He was tired, but determined to absorb all a ten-year-old could.

When they arrived at Ruth's and Frannie's apartment, Jared barely brushed his teeth before crawling into a hastily unrolled sleeping bag, his desire for Gram's special recipe hot cocoa erased by exhaustion. Booth followed his aunts to the kitchen and sat at the chrome/formica table while they boiled milk and stirred cocoa powder, vanilla, cinnamon, and powdered sugar in three heavy ceramic mugs.

"Thanks for the fantastic hockey game and all those hot dogs," he said gratefully.

"Spoiling you two boys is what makes being aunts worthwhile!" Ruth declared.

"You can't watch a hockey game properly without a gut ache from eating too much, Seeley!" Frannie replied with a twinkle in her eye. "I just hope Jared doesn't spill the beans to your parents!"

"You better get off to bed, Seels," Aunt Ruth told him.

"G'nite, Aunt Ruth, Frannie. I love you guys," Booth said with a yawn.

"We love you too, Squirt; now off you go!"

1991

Mail call was one of Booth's favorite times of the day. Like all soldiers, he relished news from home. His AIT training had been intense, but he was determined to make it into the Rangers, and considered all the physical effort, sweating, bruises, and hard knocks just part of the plan. He'd complete this course in another two weeks and head home for a week of R&R. He grabbed a cup of incredibly bad coffee from the urn, stuck his cap in his belt and grabbed a chair at the nearest cafeteria table before ripping Pops' letter open. Taking a gulp of his coffee, Booth settled back to read.

Like many older folks, Hank gave him a full rundown on the recent mid-summer weather, typically sweltering for Philadelphia. Then he recounted Gram's bridge scores from the previous week, the scrumptious flavor of her lemon meringue pie at Sunday dinner, and how his own bowling score from Tuesday night had beaten Harvey Snyder's. Next a report of Jared's mid-semester grades, mostly B's with one A thrown in from PE class.

Three paragraphs in, his grandfather's familiar scrawl disclosed less mundane news. Aunt Ruth had been feeling poorly of late, as Pops always phrased it, and consulted her doctor. The diagnosis was horrific: rampant pancreatic cancer. He wrote that only 10-15% of pancreatic tumors are operable. Symptoms don't show up until they are large and already metastasized. Ruth's doctors had said even when surgical removal is possible, the cancer comes back in 85% of patients, spreading to the liver and major arterial blood vessels. It is an insidiously aggressive disease. Frannie was seeing to her every need, but his beloved aunt's time was short. Hank suggested coming home soon if possible.

Knowing the old man **never** exaggerated, Booth swallowed hard. He headed for his commander's office to request a short leave and then went to see Aldo Clements for prayers, reassurance, and support. He was granted permission to skip graduation ceremonies after completing the last two critical weeks of training, and issued emergency leave orders.

These boosted his space-available flight status, gaining him the last seat on a Ft Lawson-Philadelphia red eye. As tired as he was, Booth couldn't sleep for worrying. He sprang for a taxi to his grandfather's home, arriving at 6 am. Knowing Hank wouldn't yet be awake, he stretched out on the porch swing to wait. (Recalling that day to Christine in years to come, it occurred to him yet again how handy cell phones were.)

An hour later, the front door opened as Hank came out for the morning paper.

"Shrimp! How long have you been lyin' there? Come on in, Son."

"Oh, Pops," Booth stood up and embraced his grandfather, noting that he'd shrunk a bit. "I came as soon as I could. How could this happen? How did she contract such an awful disease?"

"I dunno, Shrimp. Neither do the doctors. It's so advanced, all they can do is try keeping her comfortable, and even that's not working too well."

A pot of coffee consumed, the two men headed for Ruth and Frannie's apartment. Booth was dismayed at how wan Frannie looked, an overtired caregiver, distraught at her unwilling patient's condition. A hospital bed was set up in their dining room engulfed petite Ruth's gaunt frame. Booth struggled to conceal his sorrowful shock as he bent to kiss her thin cheek. He forced a smile and commented how sunny the room was. Hank moved alongside his grandson to grasp his daughter's hand, and Booth followed Frannie into the kitchen he remembered so well.

"I'm so sorry for you both, Frannie," he murmured softly, hugging her tightly.

"Not half as much as we are, Squirt," she retorted with a sigh, "but thank you, Seeley. Just pray that when her time comes, she slips away easily and soon; she's in such terrible pain and there's only so much relief the pain meds can give her. I know it's hard seeing her this way, but I'm so glad you made the trip. It means the world to her to have you here, even for a few days. And to me as well, Hon."

"You two gave me and Jared such wonderful times, and such great memories. I love you both; just wish there was something, anything I could do…"

Booth stayed the weekend, remembering old times and adventures with his aunts, so many hockey matches, baseball games, picnics, zoo days, sleepovers, and gallons of Grams' cocoa. By the time he flew out on Sunday evening, the two ladies had laughed so hard they cried. He'd told them both, as they had him, how much love they shared, how much the adventures and memories meant.

He'd repeated the same timeless phrase to his Pops, how much his frequent letters meant, deep gratitude for the years spent raising him and Jared, for his dedicated parenting when he might have been relaxing over a chess game with old friends. Looking out the aircraft window at the passing landscape below, Booth reflected on how few times he'd heard those important words from his father, and was thankful again for Hank Booth.

Two months later, embroiled in intensely tough Ranger training, Booth got another letter from Pops at mail call. This one let him know that Ruth had slipped away in her sleep the previous week, and Frannie was terribly saddened, yet relieved that her partner and best lifelong friend was at peace.

2025

Thirteen-year-old Christine stood at her Great Aunts' grave, reading the double headstone's inscription,

"Together in Life; United in Death, Loving Forever"

Ruth Margaret Booth 1950-1992

Frances Helen Jennings 1946-2020

Her father stood behind her, his arm over her shoulder pulling her into a hug.

"They were quite a pair, two adventurous broads, who didn't know the meaning of the word 'can't' or 'shouldn't.' They'd try anything once; let me and Jared get away with anything as long as we didn't hurt ourselves or burn down their house. God, I loved those aunts! They spoiled us rotten, but we never got our fill of being with them. Reality always set in and we had to go back to the 'real world' as my dad said. He could've had a better life if he'd been more like his sister."

"Kind of like you, Dad. You spoil us sometimes, then lower the boom on us others," Christine remarked.

Booth smiled above her head, and bent to kiss the top of her curls. _Time enough for the full unvarnished truth about Dad when she's older, much older,_ he thought to himself.

"Did Mom ever meet your Aunts, Dad?"

"Oh, yeah, she met Frannie a couple of times, but never Ruth. That's a shame because the two of them are a lot alike. Very intelligent, logical, precise. Memories like elephants. I loved them both, and my Grams, I love your mom, love you, honey. More than I can say. Our family has some strong women, lots for you to live up to, Monkey."

Christine raised her head and looked up at her father. "I love you, too, Dad. Always and forever."


End file.
